


Interlaced

by danceswithgary



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe - Movie Fusion, Amnesia, Drama, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-02-22
Updated: 2009-02-22
Packaged: 2017-10-04 02:05:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/danceswithgary/pseuds/danceswithgary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was a chance to start over, a new life. Now, he's not sure it was such a good idea.  (SGA/SG-1 fusion with 2002 movie, 'Cypher')</p>
            </blockquote>





	Interlaced

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Click For Full Size](http://pics.livejournal.com/danceswithgary/pic/000pr375)

_"You want me to sit in that thing? I thought I heard that it killed O'Neill when he used it in Antarctica."_

_"No, the chair didn't kill him. His brain couldn't handle a download of an alien database and basically ended up fried."_

_"So...nothing to do with the chair."_

_"Colonel, the chair will not hurt you. I want you to sit down and try to make it light up and look as pretty as you. Listen, I'll try to make this simple enough to understand, even for someone who chose to spend his adult life playing with guns. According to Dr. Beckett's tests, you've won the genetic lottery and, as a result, you are one of the very few people on Earth that are capable of activating the Ancient technology we've been studying. Now, let's stop wasting my very valuable time, shall we? Sit."_

_"You know, snapping your fingers at me isn't going to make me obey your commands. I'm an F-302 pilot...not a dog."_

_"Fine, fine. I apologize for offending your delicate sensibilities, but still time-critical here."_

_"Whoa! Did I do that?"_

_"Just attempt to concentrate, Colonel, and think of where we are in the solar system."_

The crazy dreams I've been having lately don't help when I have to get up early. At least the headache I woke up with again this morning is almost gone by the time I park my car and grab my briefcase to walk inside the building. I'm glad I got here a little earlier than I'd originally planned when I see the guards and scanners, although the elaborate security setup shouldn't be a big surprise, even this far out from the city. You work long enough developing software for the Department of Defense and you get used to the scanning and ID checks.

There isn't much in my briefcase, but the guys must be bored because the one flipping through my South Seas travel guide asks me whether I'm planning a vacation. He hands the book back, not really paying attention when I smile and explain that I keep it around for a little light reading. I pass all their security tests and they buzz me on through to a wide-open room. A lab technician asks me a few questions and makes me take my glasses off to get my picture taken, and then I sit down in an slightly uncomfortable reclining chair for the next set of tests.

The discs stuck to my temples sting, but I keep reminding myself that this job is something I've been working toward for years, my first real chance for advancement out of the code pit in ages. Thinking about how much better it's going to be to work here makes it easy for me to stay calm while I answer question after question. They're easy; I don't even have to think about them, the answers are there, right on the tip of my tongue even before the interviewer finishes talking.

"What is your name?"

"Lawrence Yeager."

"Where were you born, Mr. Yeager?"

"Madison, Wisconsin."

"Are you a spy, Mr. Yeager?"

"No."

"Are you an undercover operative for the Trust, Mr. Yeager?"

"No."

"Have you been employed by either the Trust or Zetatron to steal confidential information from the NID, Mr. Yeager?"

"No."

"Have you ever worked in any capacity for the Trust or Zetatron, Mr. Yeager?"

"No."

"Have you ever worked in any capacity for the SGC, Mr. Yeager?"

"No."

The questions go on for what seems like hours, repeated again and again, until finally they unhook me from the machine and rub away the leftover adhesive from the discs. I sit and wait patiently in the empty office they leave me in, and I pull a handkerchief from my pocket to polish my glasses and I almost drop them when there's suddenly a new voice right behind me.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Yeager. I'm Mr. Hoskins."

"Ah...yes, good afternoon."

I put my glasses back on, shove them up into place, and put away my handkerchief to give my heart a chance to calm down. Then, after a deep breath, I smile and fold my hands in my lap and wait for the man to speak. I know it won't do to seem too eager; although I think getting this far in the interview process means that I probably still have a chance. He walks around in front of me and his smile is quite nice as he offers me his hand. I settle back in my chair and fold my hands again as I check him out. Although he looks as if he's probably worked here for a while, he's not much older than I am, still has all his hair. He seems to prefer pacing around the room while he talks, although he stops and nods and smiles fairly often. His teeth look very white against his brown skin, in all a very handsome, confident man.

"As I'm sure you're aware, Mr. Yeager, the NID is an organization financed by this government which has been duly elected by the people of this country. We provide crucial civilian oversight of top-secret military operations. This means that we handle a great deal of highly confidential information vital to this nation's continued safety and prosperity in a world...no, more than that...a _universe_ fraught with dangers."

I'm very aware of the importance of the job I'm applying for...and how much I want it. "Oh, yes. I do know that from the position search notification."

"Of course, you do. I'm happy to say that based on your MRPF and certain other useful personal characteristics, we have a Superior Qualifications appointment to offer you. Now, keep in mind as I supply the details that you've already signed a confidentiality agreement and that you cannot discuss anything that you'll be hearing, once you're outside this room, under penalty of law. This, of course, includes your wife and any friends or family members."

I really don't need the warning, but I politely play along for the sake of expediency. "Yes, Mr. Hoskins."

"If you accept this position, you will be assigned to gather information on a shadow organization known as the Trust. While this organization purports to be concerned with ensuring that the United States has all possible resources and weapons at its disposal, they are a rogue agency that trespasses across legal, ethical, and moral boundaries. As part of your assignment, you will be attending a series of mock conventions and seminars they schedule to disseminate information to sleeper cells located across the country. You will collect and feed that information back to us."

"That sounds very exciting, Mr. Hoskins." I clasp my hands tighter to help hold my exhilaration inside. After all, spies can't betray any emotion.

"Although you'll be practicing deception on a daily basis on a number of people, including your wife, this isn't exactly the role of James Bond. Nevertheless, I believe you'll be satisfied with the change of pace. We've been very impressed with your drive and determination. I think you'll likely be a good fit."

I can't let this opportunity slip through my hands, so I need to make sure I have all the bases covered, that their confident in my abilities. "Is there's anything else I can tell you about myself, Mr. Hoskins?"

"Oh, I doubt that, Mr. Yeager. You've passed the detector five times today. In addition to your MRPF, your personal records have checked out: married for four years, nice house in the suburbs, stable job history, no addictions to drugs, cigarettes or alcohol...clean as the proverbial whistle."

My insides unclench a little at that and the relief leaves me babbling a little, but hopefully not too much. "Well, I can say that it may have taken me a while to get this far, but now that I'm being given this chance, you can be certain I'm going to be making the most of it."

I guess that's what he was looking for because he claps his hands together and rubs them together in satisfaction, all the while smiling and nodding. He waits for me to stand, waves me toward the door and follows me back out into the main room. One of the ordinary-looking men walking around in lab coats brings me an envelope and, when I look inside, I see a Washington State driver's license, a credit card, and a pen. My picture's on the two IDs, same brown hair and blue eyes, but not my name.

"I...I don't understand, Mr. Hoskins. Larry Tolson...these can't be mine."

"Ah, but that's where you're wrong, Mr. Yeager. When you walk out of here, you will have a second identity when you're on an assignment. You simply need to remember that, as far as the NID is concerned, we've never met Larry Tolson. We never will."

I start to get the picture, figure out where they're going with all this. It makes sense to have a name unaffiliated with the NID gathering the information they're looking for, someone who can't be linked to them if something goes wrong. Of course, if it does, it'll leave me hanging out to dry. I'm not going to think about that now, because this is still what I've been working for all along. Hoskins takes the pen from my hand, gives it a twist to the left, and then hands it back.

"You'll be using this, Mr. Yeager. Simply keep it concealed until the presentations start, then depress the top until you see the light flashing. The transmission will start immediately. The collection is clear within fifty yards. Just keep toward the front for the best reception. You can tuck the device away safely in your pocket after that."

"If I look at it will it erase my memory?"

Hoskin's frown makes it all too clear my feeble attempt at humor fell flat. I try to make up for it with a more logical question. "I'm assuming the signal's clear from inside the buildings. Where does it end up?"

"It uses a satellite uplink for a shielded transmission to our databanks."

"Whatever data you're gathering must be really important to go through all of this."

"The details aren't your concern, Mr. Yeager. What's important is following our instructions to the letter. Understood?"

The chill in Hoskin's voice causes a shiver to run up my spine, but there's something I have to know. "Of course, Mr. Hoskins. I have one more question, if you don't mind. What is he like? "

"Excuse me? What is who like?"

"Tolson. Who is he? What's his personality?"

Hoskins looks puzzled and then amused, as if I've asked something ridiculously foolish. "That's entirely up to you, Mr. Yeager. He's whoever you want him to be."  


#+#+#+#

  


_"Why don't we take a break, get some dinner, maybe?"_

_"Press here and think, 'On,' Colonel."_

_"Geez, McKay, don't you ever lighten up?"_

_"Hunh. Why don't we interrupt this extremely vital test to examine that not-quite-so-vital question, shall we? I have been buried in this concrete bunker situated approximately half a mile under the Nevada desert for the last twenty-seven months, five days and, let's see...seventeen...no, make that eighteen minutes with no time off for good behavior. Every day I work with inadequate tools and incompetent assistants to meet impossible deadlines. My glass isn't half-empty, Miss Colonel Sunshine. It's in fucking pieces."_

_"Hey, you're not military and it's not like you've kept it a secret that you're Canadian. Why don't you just quit and get a job someplace else if you hate it here so much?"_

_"Oddly enough, that was never presented as one of my options after they brought me back from Siberia. You see, Colonel, the people in charge tend to get a little nervous about a brain like mine wandering around loose. I'm the perfect example of just how dangerous a great deal of knowledge can be."_

I rolled out of bed this morning, looked into the bathroom mirror, and my face didn't look right somehow. It'd almost felt like a mask that I couldn't see and couldn't remove. The feeling didn't last long. By the time I finish my shower and start shaving, it's already fading away, just like last night's dreams did. All I can remember about them is they're weird, filled with people I've never seen before, whispering, which makes the dreams more like nightmares because I hate not understanding what those strangers are trying to tell me.

I finish shaving, then I give into the impulse to smile and introduce myself...to me. "Hello, Mr. Yeager. I'm Larry Tolson."

"Lawrence? Did you say something?"

Somehow, she keeps catching me by surprise. It's as if she blinks out of existence when she's out of my sight, or something. I think I'll keep that observation to myself. "Just reminding myself to finish...uh...paying the bills before I leave for Buffalo."

She's putting in some earrings when I walk out of the bathroom, and I see her eyes following me in the mirror above the bureau. "I still don't understand why you need to go all the way to Buffalo."

I stall for a bit pretending to pick out my clothes, but it's easy to see she's getting impatient as she checks through her purse for something. "I told you that they want me to demo and train people on the testing software I was using. Onsite. In fact, I think there'll be more trips coming up. They really need subject matter experts, and I'm one of the best."

Oh, that got her full attention and suddenly it's 'flip back perfect blonde hair and pout with hands on hips' time. "More trips? Lawrence, we agreed you were going to take that position in my father's company."

The need to focus on the buttons on my shirt is handy when it comes to avoiding the glare. "I changed my mind. I'm really feeling the need to explore new opportunities, expand my horizons."

"But you'll be traveling so much, and I need your help around the house while I'm focused on the Forsythe merger."

The whine raises the hairs on the back of my neck, then her assumptions edge me toward anger, something that feels oddly familiar, even though that's not how I usually react. I haven't had my coffee yet, my head is pounding, and I've had too much of her. "So hire a goddamn maid!"

The shock makes her take a step back with her eyes about to pop out of her head, and it's a struggle not to laugh. Her voice even wobbles a bit when she asks, "I just don't understand this sudden change in attitude, Lawrence. What's going on?"

I just shrug my jacket on and tell her, "Nothing's going on. I've just decided to be myself for a change."  


#+#+#+#

  
I yank the damn tie off and shove it into my jacket pocket the minute I step out of the convention room. The noise of the other attendees makes my head throb and I don't catch a single name when they introduce themselves and then blather some nonsense about the world-shattering importance of the shaving cream manufacturing and distribution analysis torture we've all been subjected to for the last eight hours. The dark haven of the hotel's bar beckons to me and I excuse myself from the gabbling flock and head for it, hoping I made a clean getaway and no one follows.

It's my third convention...assignment...and I should be used to the excruciating boredom of the presentations by now, but I'm beginning to wonder whether I made the right choice. I'd been hoping for more than a job that entails sitting down in a crowded room, clicking a pen, and then trying to stay awake by drinking the mineral water they keep bringing around. The last time I verified the transmission was a success, I suggested that I was ready to handle something more...exciting. All I got for that was the next destination, so here I am in the booming metropolis of Omaha, Nebraska, ears bleeding from a statistical overload.

The dimmer lights in the bar help my headache the minute I walk through the door. I know alcohol will only ramp it up again so I settle for a cola, hoping the caffeine will help. While I'm waiting for my drink, I check out the place and the minute I see it, I know exactly where I'm going to end up. My jacket gets tossed on the bench and I sit and the ivory is cool and smooth under my fingertips, warming as I stroke gently and begin to coax the music from them.

"Drink?"

It's the dark-haired guy who was slumped at the bar when I walked in. I'd nodded politely, because he'd seemed familiar, but I hadn't said anything because I'd wanted to avoid any more encounters with shaving cream aficionados. He's holding his Corona and offering me a glass with ice and something amber-colored inside.

"I'd have thought you'd bring over another one of those." I smile and nod toward his beer as I take the glass from him.

His teeth scrape across his lower lip like he's trying to hold back a smile, but he fails. "Nah. You looked more like a single malt. Dalwhinnie." His hair's too long and flops down over his eyes, hiding them, but not before I catch his wink.

The headache's better, so I indulge in a sip before I nod my thanks. He leans against the piano and grins at me and looks like he's sticking around for a while. No shaving cream in the conversation yet, so I take my turn. "On the rocks, too. Impressive. So, is that some sort of parlor trick, or do you just calculate the odds that you'll be right?"

He shrugs and the movement leads my eyes on a tour over a long, lean body in soft-looking jeans and a black leather jacket over a black t-shirt. "I could do that, too. Let's see...you like football, Ferris wheels...and anything that goes over two hundred miles an hour. How'd I do?"

One eyebrow goes north and fingers scrape across late-day stubble that's peppered with a little gray...like his hair. He obviously decides to go along with the game and nods his head. "Not bad for random guessing, but it's college football." He extends his hand and introduces himself. "David Marcus."

"La...Larry Tolson." Feeling a little nervous about how close I came to saying the wrong name, I shake his hand and smile and then return my attention to the safety of the piano. My fingers wander across the keys and I let them find their own way through the measures in a eclectic medley of Gershwin, Bach, Chopin, and McCartney. I glance up at my one-man audience and there's a look of pleased surprise on his face, as though he's discovered something completely unexpected...but good.

"You're really talented."

I wince a little at the compliment because it scrapes against a distant memory. "Good enough for a bar, but that's as far as it goes. Took lessons for years, got me out of the house and away from the yelling. That worked until I was twelve, but then my teacher...well, he made it clear to my parents that I was okay technically but lacked artistry. No more lessons."

"Ouch. That's...."

I don't like seeing that mouth frowning, so I wave his sympathy away. "Was a long time ago."

I finish my drink and he empties his bottle while I keep on playing. He jerks a thumb at the bar and I shake my head, so he settles back into that slouch of his and asks, "So, Larry, what do you do when you're not working or playing the piano in hotel bars?"

"I... I play golf."

The curve of his smile seems to mock me as he leans a little closer. "Yeah? You any good?"

Being the focus of his interest is...intense, and it throws me for a moment and I have to look away as I confess, "No. I haven't made it off the driving range yet."

"Hey, that's cool. Gotta like an honest man." The honking laugh is startling...stirs the ghosts in the back of my mind...and matches the warmth of his palm on my shoulder as he shakes it a little and then pulls away.

Suddenly, I want more of that, him, as much as I can get. "So...what else do you like?"

"Well, you've already listed pretty much all of it." The frown is there and gone, wiped away by a shrug and another easy smile.

The bar's getting crowded with the spillover from the convention, and it's hard to hear what we're saying to each other. I've been enjoying myself for the first time in quite a while, so I decide to make a suggestion. "I'm staying here tonight. Interested in taking this upstairs, maybe order room service?"

"I forgot to mention an important something that I like...no rings."

The lean is gone and I think I somehow made a mistake, but he'd seemed interested up until then, so I have to find out what went wrong. "No...rings?"

"Yeah. You might want to take yours off when you're looking for something more than conversation." There's no smile in sight when he nods toward my left hand.

My face feels like it's going to burst into flames as I grab my jacket and stand. "God, I...I wasn't...I'm sorry...I'll leave you alone now." He doesn't say a word, just watches me leave.

I'm not sure how, but I manage to make back to my room. I look at the face in the mirror above the bathroom sink and ask the blue-eyed stranger, "How the hell did you forget you were married?"  


#+#+#+#

  


_"Bored, Sheppard? Here."_

_"A laptop?"_

_"I figured you needed something a little more stimulating than prime/not prime. Non-networked, so you don't have to worry about security scans. When you get tired of playing golf with Tiger Woods, you can check out the design program I loaded for you. Exercise that too-cool-for-Mensa brain by using that degree of yours to construct your dream flying machine."_

_"Thanks! You know, if you're not careful, McKay, you're going to ruin your reputation as biggest asshole in Nevada."_

_"Not much chance of that happening. I've spent years building it. Just make sure you don't leave that out where it can grow feet and walk away. I'll be damned if I'll configure a second one for you."_

_"I'll just take that as 'you're welcome.' Video golf. Cool. Ready to take me on?"_

_"You want me to...? I...there's a simulation...I mean...."_

_"Come on, you can play a round or two while it's running. Live a little, McKay...or are you just afraid you'll look bad?"_

_"Golf is simple physics, and there isn't a computer game out there that I can't beat. Shift over, Sheppard, and watch a master at work."_

I wake up when the alarm goes off and stumble into the bathroom and the face in the mirror doesn't look quite right, like it's off-center by a few degrees. My head and the back of my neck are killing me. Those damn dreams must be nightmares that cause extra tension or something. It's ridiculous how much they're bothering me, just bits and pieces flashing by, voices, gray metal walls, and the occasional blue flash of light. I don't understand how they could be causing all this but, if they continue, I may need to see a doctor.

My morning doesn't get any better when I stumble back out for my glasses and see the woman who's supposed to be my wife standing in the bedroom with a frown on her face. I mean, she _is_ my wife. I've seen our wedding picture on my desk next to the computer monitor. It's just that I can't imagine how I ever wanted her, held her...or kissed her. There she is, face made up perfectly, silky-smooth hair, and legs that go on forever. She's don't-mess-me-up beautiful...and I couldn't care less if I never tried to touch her again.

I can't deal with her when my head's about to fall off, so it's back to the bathroom and the funhouse mirror. The problem is the glasses don't help. I don't even know why I wear them, so I toss them in the trash and look again. I try a smile, but it doesn't feel right to force my mouth to curve up on both sides, so I give up on that and the left side slanting down actually looks more natural to me. Since I decided to grow a goatee, shaving takes almost no time. Just my neck and cheeks get abused now.

She hates it and makes sure I know it when I walk out to get my clothes. "Between that beard and letting your hair get too long, you're starting to look ridiculous. I don't understand all these changes. Quitting your job, playing golf...are you going through some sort of mid-life crisis?"

It's easier to just let her talk without answering. She'll eventually wind down if I don't turn the key in her back. I decide to wear one of my new polo shirts, instead of my usual button-downs. In fact, I pull out two more for the trip. They're really comfortable.

"And this trip to Roanoke. Why do they need to fly you all the way out there? It doesn't make sense that they can't find anyone on the East Coast who can handle the training."

Definite whine creeping in. I continue to pack my suitcase, folding everything carefully. I hate having to iron in the hotel room. I didn't think her voice could get any more strident, but I was wrong.

"Lawrence? Lawrence, are you even listening to me? You are not going on this trip. My father wants you to come to his office tomorrow. The position with his company is more important than this silly freelance job."

The suitcase isn't very heavy when I pick it up, and I review my checklist in my head to make sure I'm not forgetting something. I decide to leave early so I can stop for coffee on the way and hopefully push back the headache a little before I'm in the air.

"Put that back, Lawrence! You're not leaving. I'll call my father tonight, and...."

It's time to say goodbye. "Tell your father to go fuck himself."

"What? I don't believe you! If you don't apologize right now, I want you out of this house. Are you listening to me? What's gotten into you? Lawrence, what's going on? I'm your wife. I think I deserve an explan...."

Thankfully, the car's soundproofing works as advertised. I can still see her standing there waving her arms at me, but I don't have to listen anymore. It's a quick trip to the airport, and it isn't until I'm checking in at the gate that I realize I forgot my golf clubs.

I guess I'll have to buy another set.  


#+#+#+#

  


_"Rodney, Colonel Sheppard, you have to hear this. I caught Kavanagh in the hall just now and asked why I hadn't seen him about lately. He started spouting off on what he and Bricksdale have been working on in the restricted labs. It's the Goa'uld memory device. They've been adapting it for use with the Nishta drug. It's bloody brainwashing and, even worse, President Landry's authorized human trials!"_

_"Sudden crisis of conscience, Carson? So sorry, but I don't have the time to hold your hand and whisper about the finer points of martial law right now. In fact, I'm booked solid until shortly after midnight...at which point I'll likely be tucked up in my bunk with my dick in my hand enjoying the fact that I'm alone and that I can take as long as I like and make as much noise as I want...and...no...one...can...hear...me."_

_"Jesus wept! I could have gone the rest of my life without knowing that, you bloody bastard."_

_"I have to second that, McKay."_

_"Yes, well, you shared, I shared, and hopefully we've all learned our lesson about what types of information shouldn't be discussed where...anyone...could overhear, haven't we?"_

There's some sort of noise and I wake up with a pickaxe buried in the base of my skull. It doesn't take me very long to decide falling into bed at six pm was a bad idea. I'm wide awake at eleven with a headache from hell. Coffee's a bad idea at this time of night, but ice might help, so I grab the bucket and head for the ice machine down the hall.

The bucket's almost full when I see something out of the corner of my eye. Someone's standing by the emergency exit, a long black shadow with no face until he moves under the red light. It's the guy from Omaha, David...something...David...Marcus, and then he's gone, through the door like some kind of ninja. There's ice all over the floor and I should go back to my room and lock the door, but I'm at the door and then I'm taking the stairs two at a time as if running up three flights to the roof is something I do all the time.

It's not completely dark outside, there are lights from the surrounding buildings that create shadows across the cinders. The biggest shadow is moving, a slow flicker that finally resolves into blades above an almost invisible helicopter. It's sleek, its curves tell stories of speed and dancing through the sky like a dragonfly and I want to run my hands above them, not touching, just...following them like the air would. I only get one step closer before a man with a gun steps in front of me.

I put my hands up to show how harmless I am, and my voice only wobbles a little. "Whoa, I...I wasn't going to do anything. I...uh...I'll just go back downstairs to my room, okay?"

My answer comes from behind me. "I think you should start by turning around...slowly."

I know who it is even before I see his face. David's voice has been stuck in my head since that night in the bar. Embarrassment can do that, make you play a scene over and over until you want to throw things and yell that you didn't mean to screw things up and you want another chance.

David may not be holding a gun, but it's a little hard to forget there's one at my back. He's standing partly in shadow, hiding his face. His tone is flat as he asks me, "What did they give you for a transmission device?"

This is a bad time to realize that Hoskins never went over what I'm supposed to do when someone finds out what I've been doing. "I...I don't know what...."

A heavy sigh interrupts my babbling at the same time David reaches out to clip me across the back of my head with his hand. It doesn't really hurt, although I can hear the frustration in his voice. "You can give it up, Yeager. We know about your assignments from the NID. Now, just save us all some time and tell me what you've been using?"

Without instructions to refer to...or a cyanide pill I'd never take anyway...I calculate my odds of escape and tell him what he wants. "It's the pen. The one in my jacket pocket. I depress the button until it starts flashing."

"You've got to be kidding. They gave you a _flashy-thing_?" I wasn't expecting the snort of laughter, but hearing it loosens some of the knots in my stomach. "All right, now you need to listen very carefully and do exactly what I tell you. It's a matter of life or death...for you."

He couldn't have picked a better set of words to guarantee my attention.

"When you're inside the convention room tomorrow, keep the pen turned off. Forget about trying to send a transmission to the NID. You're going to find out they don't give a damn about it, they'll never miss it. They're after something else, and they'll kill you if you tell them you've spoken to me."

A pill bottle appears from a pocket of David's leather jacket, and I fumble the catch when he tosses it to me. The top stays on and I'm glad I don't have to get on my hands and knees to pick up the red capsules. I notice the bottle's unlabelled when I pick it up, and David doesn't share the details on what's inside, just general directions. "Take two of those every six hours and the headaches will go away. Should cut back on the nightmares, too."

"How...how did you know that I've been having nightmares?"

David shakes his head and doesn't bother to answer my question. "We'll be in touch again in Boise."

I'm totally baffled by everything that's been happening. It's rapidly becoming apparent that taking a job as a spy wasn't a good career move. "Boise? Is that going to be my next assignment? What's going to happen to me if I don't turn on my pen?"

David grabs my shoulder like he did back at that bar and gives me a little shake, which feels....right somehow. "That's all I can tell you tonight. You just need to remember who you are; Lawrence Yeager, not Larry Tolson." He and the guy with the gun walk toward the helicopter without saying another word, not even a goodbye. I watch the gorgeous thing take off almost silently and I lose it against the dark sky instantly, as if it turned invisible.

I wait for a few minutes, but nothing else happens, so I go back to my room without the ice, take two red capsules with a glass of water from the sink and climb back into bed and hope the damn pills work as advertised...and I won't wake up halfway to Zion with a metal plug in the back of my skull.  


#+#+#+#

  


_"You both followed my email instructions exactly? I need to know if you deviated from them at any point."_

_"Yes, Rodney. I deleted the message, left my room at exactly 11:58 and walked down the A32 corridor to your room and here I am."_

_"Good. Sheppard?"_

_"Same here, except I had B19 first, then A32."_

_"Okay, that means I don't have to re-loop anything tonight. Just remember to stick to those corridors whenever you come here from your rooms. Right now, we have twenty minutes before you need to head back to your rooms the same way."_

_"That handles the hallways, but what about the rooms?"_

_"You're both in bed sleeping right now, so when you get back, just climb into bed. The in-room security recordings are only reviewed in certain cases and, in any case, I designed the systems...built with all the backdoors I'll ever need."_

_"Jesus, McKay. You're not fooling around."_

_"Neither is your government, and you know exactly what I'm talking about, otherwise you wouldn't be here. What Carson found out today has been going on for quite some time in certain sectors of the military, and Landry's looking to expand it to the civilian population if they can complete the development of units that can handle more than a few people at a time. I have access to every report filed in this facility, and it was easy to predict where they were headed months ago. Between that and the wide-range zat project Radek and Miko are heading, the sound of jackboots is getting louder every day."_

_"Fuck. Brainwashing...so that they follow their beloved leaders' every order? Are you sure, McKay? I've read the mission reports. That would that make Landry and the rest of them no better than the Goa'uld."_

_"Exactly...and I'm very sure and that's why you're both here. I'm pretty confident in trusting you, Sheppard, because I've read your file and it's pretty easy to see you're not the kind of soldier that follows orders blindly. You've disobeyed them in the past to do what was right, and you were lucky enough to pull it off, otherwise you'd have ended up discharged before they found out how valuable you were. Carson here, has been deliberately slowing down and even falsifying his research on the Ancient gene because of the government's plan for mass inoculations with inadequate testing protocols. Now, knowing all this, I'm giving you the opportunity to leave now."_

_"As I just said, I've read the mission reports you loaded on my laptop. A lot of good men and women have died trying to keep Earth free of the Goa'uld. I've also seen for myself what's going on down here, and I believe what you're telling me. I used to think it could never.... I can't stand by and let it happen. I'm in."_

_"As am I, Rodney. God help us all."_

_"Okay, now that we're 'all for one and one for all,' what do we do next?"_

_"You two aren't going to do anything...yet. I've been working on contingency plans I'm not ready to share."_

_"You sure there's nothing we can do to help?"_

_"It'll help if you two go on doing whatever you normally do everyday and don't call attention to yourselves. You need to stay quiet about anything you see or hear around the labs until everything's in place. If you need to talk to me, repeat what you did tonight so I can make sure the security feeds stay clear. In an emergency, ask me to go with you to check the D200 stockroom. Now run along. You have three minutes to get back to your rooms, then the security feeds are live again."_

_"Cutting it a wee bit close, aren't you? All right then. Goodnight, Rodney."_

_"Sheppard, hold up a minute."_

_"What is it? Running out of time here."_

_"Don't worry, you have over five minutes left. I didn't want to take a chance on Carson missing his 'curfew.' I need to see you here tomorrow night at the same time. I have some things I want to discuss with you."_

_"Things?"_

_"Tomorrow, okay? I...I have a proposition to make, and there's not enough time."_

_"Okay, I'll be here. I have to ask. What would have happened if I hadn't come here tonight and turned you in instead...or left just now when you offered?"_

_"I'm a genius. Remember? You wouldn't have been allowed to compromise my plans...and let's leave it at that. It's not just my life on the line here, Sheppard. I can't afford to make the mistake of trusting the wrong people."_

The red capsules must have done something useful, because my head doesn't feel as if it's going to fall off if I move too fast. I still have the impression my dreams were less than cheerful, but it's a better morning than I've had in a long time. I don't have much time to look in a mirror because I overslept and I barely make it downstairs in time for coffee before another day of dry-as-dust statistics that I can't swallow, no matter how many glasses of water I drink.

For the same unknown reason that I keep swallowing unidentified pills, I don't activate the pen during the presentation. I'm nauseous and sweating when I bolt from the room at the end, but I figure it's just nerves, the long hours waiting to find out whether the NID will discover I'm disobeying orders.

When the usual follow-up call comes through, it substantiates David's claim. The voice on the other end of the line lies and tells me the transmission went through without any problems, and that I'm supposed to catch a connecting flight to Boise. There's no time to go home first, and it doesn't bother me at all. I'm too busy reviewing the usual packet of information that somehow appears in my carryon every time I finish an assignment.

I probably should be worried that not going home doesn't bother me but, surprisingly enough, I'm not.

At least the headache's almost gone.  


#+#+#+#

  
The desk clerk at the hotel looks at me like it's perfectly normal to hand me a slip of paper with a nothing but a biblical chapter and verse, Job 13:17. Telling me that the first letter in each word is the number to call 'him' doesn't make the situation any less surreal. I have an hour before the convention kicks off, so I make a quick detour to my room in search of that staple of hotels rooms everywhere, the Gideon Bible.

The translation takes me less than a minute, and the recorded voice on the other end of the line is really no surprise.

_"Yeager, listen carefully. Take the service elevator at the end of the hall, down to the basement level. Your path will be clear for the next five minutes. Don't forget to destroy the note."_

I decide not to waste those five minutes, or the chance to find out more about what the hell is going on. I walk out of the service elevator into a dimly lit basement and, within five yards, David steps out of the shadows. He's a shadow himself, dressed in black from head to toe, and he's a little frightening when he pretends to smile. I can't help twitching a little as I ask him, "What are we doing down here?"

David ignores my question, just grabs me by the arm and drags me past a boiler room to a loading dock, where he pushes me into the back of a refrigerated truck. Before I can protest, the rear doors are closed and I almost lose my footing when the truck lurches. We're moving, judging by a gently swaying slab of beef. The motion isn't enough to stop David from dragging my jacket off my shoulders and tossing it to the side.

The syringe he produces from his pocket has me backing toward the doors and wondering how badly I'll be hurt if I jump out while we're still moving. He must have some idea what I'm thinking because he grabs my arm and frowns at me as he orders, "Roll up your sleeve. We don't have much time."

"Are you insane?" I yank my arm away and shove him with both hands, sending us both staggering backwards, and his jacket swings open and reveals a holster. Even the threat of a gun isn't enough to make me shut up and comply with his unreasonable demands. "I don't even know what's in that syringe. I have allergies, I'm very sensitive to certain drugs!"

The gun stays where it is, and his shrug is casual, even mocking. "Don't worry. I've done this before."

I cross my arms and make my feelings clear. "I don't care if you shoot up every day and twice on Sunday! You're not going to drug me without my permission!"

He looks down at the syringe, his hair flopping forward to help conceal his expression. His mouth twists as he drawls sarcastically, "Actually, this is the antidote to the drug that the NID has been using on you _without your permission_ at these so-called conventions." He glances up at me, flips the hair back out of his eyes, and explains, "The drug happens to be tasteless and odorless, so you wouldn't have detected it. Do you normally drink something inside the convention room?"

He's keeping me off-balance with reasonable questions that I can't help but answer. "There's the mineral water. Helps keep me awake."

"That's probably it. Did you take the pills I gave you?" He's so calm and cool for a man holding a potentially dangerous syringe in the back of a moving meat van that some of the tension uncurls from my spine without my permission and I'm nodding. "Headaches better? A few less nightmares?

"Yes, pretty much," I reluctantly concede, but I still have questions. "I don't understand. Why did the NID lie about the transmission in Roanoke?"

His legs braced wide against a sudden stop, David shrugs, his eyes flat and hard under the florescent lights. "There's never been any transmission, not in Buffalo or Omaha...or anywhere else you've been sent. You and the other convention guests supposedly all work for NID as spies, but the NID has been giving you phony assignments along with the fake identities. You were told the pen's a transmitting device. Someone thinks it's a watch or a necklace. It's all staged to keep you distracted, so none of you realize what's really going on."

The chill of the truck is seeping into me, wipes away some of the confusion that has been controlling my life for days, and I begin to wonder why I'm standing here accepting everything this stranger is telling me. "And that is?"

"If you want all the answers, then take the damn shot." He looks at me and waits, and I finally roll up my sleeve to let him jab me with the damn needle. He actually smiles after finishes and pats me on the shoulder as I roll my sleeve back down. His voice sounds lighter as he finishes his instructions. "Good. Now, when you're inside the convention room, act just like you always do. Go ahead and drink the water so they don't get suspicious. The antidote should protect you."

I pick up my jacket, but I only sling it over my arm when a key word penetrates. "Should? What happens to me if it doesn't?"

David bites his lower lip for a moment, and then shakes his head. "It'll work. Trust me. Now, we're running out of time, so listen to me carefully. Whatever happens in that room, you can't let them see any reaction. Show no emotion, no surprise. No matter what you see or hear, you can't move until the rest of the group does. Your life depends on it."

The truck stops and the rear doors slide open as I blurt out, "My life? I should probably just leave because why am I the one who's supposed to be doing all this if it's so dangerous?"

The sudden grip around my wrist is going leave bruises. "You have to believe me. You can try to run, but there's nowhere safe for Lawrence Yeager or Larry Tolson to hide. You have to see this through to the end if you want to live."

I don't pull away, even when I feel my bones grind together under the skin. Surprisingly, it's not frightening me, it's grounding, calming, as if there's at least one thing that's real in this god-awful mess. If he's the only one I can trust, then I have to know. "I'm assuming you're in just as much danger, so...why? Why are you helping me?"

Oddly enough, his smile is real this time, almost fond, and I can see the crinkles at the corner of the one eye that's visible under all that ridiculous hair. "Let's just say I owe a mutual friend a very big favor."

He's out the door and gone, leaving me completely baffled because I don't have any friends.  


#+#+#+#

  
I sit there and force myself to drink the damn mineral water even though my stomach threatens to revolt. The speaker drones on about housing trends, roams randomly across completely unrelated manufacturing statistics, then takes a left turn past unrelated advertising strategies. I glance out of the corner of my eye and the rest of the audience is sitting in their seats enraptured by the crap spewing forth from a moron who obviously has no idea what he's talking about.

And the doors open and there are people wheeling carts through the room, one per person, and there's some sort of machine sitting on them. The speaker never hesitates, just keeps spouting his fucking nonsense as if nothing's happening. I remember what David said and I don't move a muscle, even when one of the machines ends up in front of me at eye-level.

Not even when the disc they slap against my temple sends a shock through my head, searing white fire behind my eyes.

I want to scream, but I don't make a sound. I stare straight ahead without blinking like the rest of the zombies around me and decide that David's claims aren't a plot from a bad science fiction movie...this is really happening. Thinking of David helps. I hear his voice repeating something I'd never heard him say. _'Clear blue skies.'_

I stop myself before I say it myself, I just let it float there in my head when the machine turns on and images start flashing a few inches in front of my ears. They're three-dimensional and probably holographic, although I can't say for certain. There are faces and names, maps and locations, warnings and instructions flipping by almost too fast to see.

**You are not Lawrence Yeager.   
You are not married to Amy Yeager.   
You are not Lawrence Yeager.   
You are not married to Amy Yeager. **

Every few seconds, there's another spike of pain from the disk and it takes everything I have not to flinch. David's voice helps me hold on. _'Clear blue skies. Clear blue skies.' _

**You are not Lawrence Yeager.   
You are not married to Amy Yeager.  
You are not Lawrence Yeager.   
You are not married to Amy Yeager.**

New images and phrases replace the negative instructions, still flashing past so quickly that I can't catch them all, but there are three that repeat until they make an impression.

**Your wife is Diane Tolson.   
You live in Redmond, Washington.  
You have a 9:00 am interview with Zetatron.  
Your wife is Diane Tolson.  
You live in Redmond, Washington.  
You have a 9:00 am interview with Zetatron.**

_'Clear blue skies. Clear blue skies.'_ If David wasn't here to help, I'd be hyperventilating.

**Your wife is Diane Tolson.   
You live in Redmond, Washington.  
You have a 9:00 am interview with Zetatron.  
Your wife is Diane Tolson.  
You live in Redmond, Washington.  
You have a 9:00 am interview with Zetatron.**

I'm staring forward, but I'm not seeing anything in front of me, and then I'm flying. I'm miles above the ground, floating next to someone I trust. I know he won't let me fall and, even though I can't see his face, his voice repeats, _'Clear blue skies. Clear blue skies,'_ and I breathe in soft calm and let it wash away the pain until the machine is gone and there's only a sticky spot left at my temple and the idiot standing behind the podium thanks us all for attending.

There's a mild buzz of conversation as everyone around me stands and stretches and generally stops imitating zombies. I'm not the first person out of the room, but it's a close race. I'm frozen to the bone and I stand by myself, shivering, waiting for the elevator to my room where I can let myself fall, and someone bumps into me. Before I can turn around to yell at the clumsy fool, I feel a hand patting my jacket pocket, and suddenly there's something inside. Knowing my wallet is in the front pocket of my pants and that nothing had been in the jacket before, I decide to wait until I get to my room to find out what the mysterious object is.

It requires no skill to determine what to do with the mp3 player and ear bud. There's only one selection, and David's warm voice curls around me until I swear there's a phantom hand on my shoulder pulling me back from the glacier's edge.

_"You need to follow my instructions very carefully. The NID will approach you at the airport and they'll call you Lawrence Yeager. When they do, tell them you've never heard of anybody by that name and that you're Larry Tolson. You need to make them believe that the drug and the equipment worked. If they think you're still Yeager, they'll kill you. One last thing. Break apart this player and drop the pieces inside the toilet tank before you leave."_  


#+#+#+#

  
I was reluctant to lose my only connection to David, but disposing of the evidence was the smart thing to do, supported by the predicted encounter at the airport. I'm standing at the sink in the men's room when an airline employee walks in and starts talking.

"Hello, Mr. Yeager? There has been a change of plans. You need to come to the NID's local office right away."

I use a little more soap because you can never be too careful when you consider the number of contagions floating around in the air these days. I look up into the mirror and shake my head at the man's reflection. I even add a shrug for effect. "I think you're mistaken. My name isn't Yeager."

He persists. "You're not Lawrence Yeager? You don't work for the NID?"

It's time for an annoyed frown, and I manage it quite well, if I say so myself. "No, my name is Tolson, Larry Tolson. I think you're looking for someone else."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Tolson. My mistake." The sound of the hand dryer doesn't completely mask his apology but, thankfully, it does conceal my sweaty palms. He leaves and I can take a deep breath and, just for the hell of it, I say, "Clear blue skies."  


#+#+#+#

  
I disembark in Redmond, Washington, drive to the address on Larry Tolson's license, walk into a house I've never seen before, and say hello to a woman I've never met before who's supposed to be my wife. She welcomes me home with a peck on the cheek and reminds me that I have an interview at Zetatron in the morning.

I manage to make it through dinner without saying much, then I take two of the red capsules and crawl into bed hoping I'll wake up in the morning and discover that today has been a dream.

Make that a nightmare.  


#+#+#+#

  


_"So. That proposition you mentioned?"_

_"Oh. Well, it's like this, Sheppard. I need another person to help me with a data compression algorithm, and you can handle the math. I could do it all myself, but I'll be collecting the data we'll be compressing. I'd also like to take advantage of your training, have a second pair of eyes check for flaws or gaps in the exit scenarios I'm putting together. I mean, let's face the facts. If I screw things up, people could end up dead or locked away where even I couldn't get to them."_

_"Of course. Just point me where you need me."_

_"Good. That's good. The thing is, the majority of the work will have be done here, after hours, and bypassing the security cameras for both of us for that amount of time is...not impossible, but...."_

_"But what?"_

_"My time would be better spent elsewhere. The obvious answer would be to allow the cameras to record you entering every night...and...um...leaving a lot later. I'd only have to come up with a few recordings of us together and...."_

_"Let me get this straight, in a manner of speaking. You're suggesting you and I pretend...."_

_"Listen, you don't have to. I'll come up with something else, although if you're concerned about your military's policy of discrimination, it's not as if they're going to throw their precious gene carrier into Leavenworth."_

_"No, I get your point, Rodney. I'm not worried about anyone asking or telling. I do have a problem with the pretending."_

_"Oh, then...uh...I guess I'll have to work up something...."_

_"I don't want to pretend."_

_"You want.... Oh! Of course you do! I mean, why wouldn't you? Even Samantha Carter.... But why...what made you think I'd be...interested?"_

_"The fact that you could have suggested getting together for all-night video games or movie marathons as an excuse for the cameras? Big hint right there, buddy. There's just one thing I'd like make absolutely clear up front."_

_"Certainly. Rules. Good idea. So...um...Sheppard?"_

_"Just one. In here, doing this, I'm John."_

At least I had a good reason for looking in the mirror and wondering who I was this morning.

The crazy dreams I've been having lately don't help when I have to get up early. At least the headache I woke up with again this morning is almost gone by the time I park my car and grab my briefcase to walk inside the building. I'm glad I got here a little earlier than I'd originally planned when I see the guards and scanners, although the elaborate security setup shouldn't be a big surprise, even this far out from the city. You work long enough developing software for the Department of Defense and you get used to the scanning and ID checks.

There isn't much in my briefcase, but the guys must be bored because the one flipping through my South Seas travel guide asks me whether I'm planning a vacation. He hands the book back, not really paying attention when I smile and explain that I keep it around for a little light reading. I pass all their security tests and they buzz me on through to a wide-open room. A lab technician asks me a few questions and then I have to recline in a ridiculously uncomfortable chair for the next set of tests.

I flinch a little when they bring out the discs, but I keep reminding myself I have to keep going, play the game to the end. I answer their moronic questions, somehow keeping my temper through the endless repetitions. At least I don't have to think; the answers are there, right on the tip of my tongue even before the interviewer finishes asking.

"What is your name?"

"Larry Tolson."

"Where were you born, Mr. Tolson?"

"Baltimore, Maryland."

"Are you a spy, Mr. Tolson?"

"No."

"Are you an undercover operative for the NID, Mr. Tolson?"

"No."

"Have you been employed by the NID to steal confidential information from the Trust or Zetatron, Mr. Tolson?"

"No."

"Have you ever worked in any capacity for the NID, Mr. Tolson?"

"No."

Finally the technician unhooks me and does a half-assed job of cleaning up the damn adhesive before showing me into a room to wait for the next round of torture. I pace for over five minutes before a new face walks into the room and introduces himself. "Good afternoon, Mr. Tolson. I'm Roger Jennings, head of security for Zetatron."

Afternoon. It's the afternoon already and I've been in this place too fucking long with no one offering me anything to eat or drink. Somehow, I manage to stifle my first impulse and settle for a relatively polite, "Mr. Jennings."

He points to the chair in front of the desk and takes a seat behind it, settling back and steepling his fingers under his chin while he studies me. I take the opportunity to take a look myself. He appears ex-military; buzz-cut with a low-brow, steely-jawed and potentially dull-witted.

"It seems, Mr. Tolson, that we have some issues to resolve. According to the detector, you've been lying. Your name is not Larry Tolson and you work for the NID. You're lying when you say you are not an undercover agent." Before I can make an ill-planned attempt to escape, his grim face shifts into a smile. "You're exactly what I asked for...perfect in every detail, Mr. Yeager!"

I'm not going to fall into his trap that easily. "I have no idea what you're talking about. My name is Larry Tolson."

Jennings appears to find my attempts at denial amusing. "You're in a very unique position here, Yeager. The NID believes they've brainwashed you, created a realistic Larry Tolson. They're sure that you'll pass our testing, and that we'll hire you as one of our operatives."

I haven't given up yet. "Operative? I don't understand."

"Come on, don't try pretending you don't know Zetatron is one of the shell corporations used by the Trust. Now that everything's fallen into place, you'll be a double agent for the Trust. The NID has no reason to suspect you've been turned, so they won't watch you too closely while you're in the house they've set up for you. All you'll have to do to make sure is place one bug in each room."

I'm on my feet before I can even think about it, heading for the door as I shout, "This isn't fucking happening! I'm going home...to my real home!"

His voice is cold and stops me before I can open the door. "Your wife put the house for sale. Her lawyer has been trying to contact you since she filed for divorce, three days ago. You don't have anywhere to go."

"This isn't right. I want to see David. David Marcus." I'm shaking and it takes a lot out of me not to let it bleed into my voice.

"I'm afraid that's not possible."

"Why not? He works for you."

"David Marcus works for Nicholas Elder, a freelancer. We hired Elder to find out how the NID was getting their agents past our detector, then we asked him to provide us with an NID agent who hadn't been brainwashed into unquestioning loyalty. That would be you. Elder's the best in the business, but he is also very dangerous and very ruthless. I advise you to stay away from him...and his employees."

Jennings gets up from behind his desk and leans forward, his hands planted flat on the wood in emphasis. "Look...We're offering you a very good deal here, Yeager. When your work for us is finished, we'll provide you with a new identity, a new home, someplace far away and safe from the NID."

If I shake my head any harder, it'll fall off. "It's not going to happen, Jennings. You'll have to find someone else."

Straightening up, Jennings crosses his arms and smirks at me, acting as if I'm being particularly obtuse. "You may want to take a little time to decide. I'm sure Mr. Marcus filled you in on just how dangerous it would be for you to make that choice. Anywhere you go, the NID will be watching you. If you try to run...if you behave like Lawrence Yeager instead of Larry Tolson, they will eliminate you. Quickly, efficiently, ruthlessly."

One hand slashes the air to illustrate my demise before Jennings smiles condescendingly. "You're actually quite fortunate, Lawrence. If we hadn't interrupted the brainwashing process, you'd be like the other convention guests. Programmed with a new identity, sent to companies across the globe, disposed of when you're no longer useful."

My back against the wall, all I can do is listen, all my other options having apparently disappeared the day I accepted a job with the NID. "What you need to keep in mind, Yeager, is that the NID is working to suppress some very important technology that could change the world as we know it. All the Trust wants to do is ensure that the NID isn't able to undermine one of the basic tenets of this great country of ours, free enterprise. Now. About that decision."  


#+#+#+#

  


_"What's wrong?"_

_"Nothing."_

_"Try selling that to someone who didn't just feel every muscle in your body clench. If you don't tell me, I'll be forced to assume you're having second thoughts about this...uh...me, and I thought things were working out pretty well considering what...."_

_"Rodney, we're fine. It's just...I was laying here thinking about how good I felt, that the only thing better would be if I were up top, flying in clear blue skies."_

_"Doesn't sound like a reason to go into fight-or-flight mode."_

_"Those security protocols you have me going through. When they sent me here. Fuck. I'm never going to fly again, am I?"_

_"Hey, I'm the pessimist around here, remember?"_

_"How can I.... Jesus, Rodney. You're the astrophysicist that hasn't seen a night sky in years."_

_"Listen to me. We're not going to let the bastards win. We're going to get out of here and I'm going to build that helicopter you designed and you're going to fly it. I promise."_

The items Jennings gave me to plant in the house seem ridiculous, but they're obviously effective based on what I'm seeing on the monitors at Zetatron. The saltshaker in the dining room only recorded a silent meal. However, the dog figurine on the fireplace mantel picked up a telling conversation between my non-wife and a man I've never seen before.

_"He's definitely convinced he's Larry Tolson and that I'm his wife. He's adjusted to this house quite well."_

My curiosity gets the better of me. "Who's she talking to?"

"An NID agent." Jennings' barely concealed sneer makes it apparent that I need to acquire the knack of acting like a double-agent...fast.

_"He spends most of his time indoors, which is understandable since he has no friends and no contacts outside of Zetatron."_

"Great job, Yeager. This is exactly what we were looking for."

The simpering blonde on the monitor is the same one I woke up next to this morning, that I didn't say more than two words to before I drove to Zetatron to work at my non-existent job. There she is; face made up perfectly, silky-smooth hair, and legs that go on forever. She's a don't-mess-me-up beautiful illusion, and the thought of touching her makes me sick.

The words slip out before I can stop them. "My God... My life is the same as it ever was."

"Of course it is. The NID monitored your old life and then duplicated it. Helps the transition into a new identity." Jennings' tone is dismissive, his attention focused on the monitor.

"But, that's not who I am anymore. I like to drink scotch. I'm learning to play golf. I'm not supposed to own a split-level in the suburbs. I wasn't supposed to end up this way."

"Deal with it, Yeager. That's your version of Larry Tolson, not the NID's." Jennings shakes his head at me and then begins discussing the recordings with the technician. "Hey, you can clean up the reception in that hallway, right?"

Left to my own devices, I wander around the room until a cell phone lying on a desk catches my eye. It only takes a second to tuck it into my pocket, then I excuse myself to the restroom. The number to call is sitting there in my memory, clear as the day I parsed it out in Boise.

"Jennings? I told you not to call...."

"No, it's Lawrence Yeager."

"Why are you calling, Mr. Yeager?"

"I need your help. I want to hire Nicholas Elder."

"I'm sorry, but he doesn't work for individuals. Goodbye."

"Wait, you have to help me! Please, David! You said I could trust you and I believed you."

"Meet me at the carwash at Fourth and Jefferson in three hours. Order the deluxe package."

The chirp of a disconnect jolts me back into now and I head back to the room where Jennings is still enthusing over his coup. I slip the phone back onto the desk just before he turns around and spots me.

"Yeager! There you are. Our surveillance has already paid off. We know exactly what sort of data the NID is trying to steal from us. Tonight, you'll say that you're going out of town on a business trip. You know how to tell her that, right?" I must look a little out of it, because he grabs my arm and shakes me a little. "Yeager? Are you listening?"

I bring my focus back. "Yes."

"Stick to the script, Yeager, and don't try anything risky." There's no smile in Jennings' voice this time. "You understand me?"

No other answer is going to fly, so I don't even bother trying. "Yes."  


#+#+#+#

  
I can't help jumping when David slips into the passenger seat, just before the car passes under the first set of sprayers. "We have to make this fast. Elder's agreed to help you for free. He thinks he can use your situation to his advantage."

I'm calmer the instant I see his shadowed face, the twist of his lips as he frowns at me. "What will I have to do?"

The drawl disappears as he fires off his explanation in rapid bursts. "A few years back, a rogue agent by the name of Maybourne made it clear to both the NID and the Trust that transferring and storing information via the internet was a bad idea. They fell back on the tried and true method of couriered deliveries of encrypted data. That's where you come in. NID agents will be following you wherever you go, and that's exactly what the Trust wants. At each destination, you'll be met by a Trust contact who will hand you a flash drive. The NID 's agents will naturally assume you are receiving valuable information, which your wife will copy for them when you arrive home."

"And then what?" My mind is whirling trying to understand how many layers deep I'm buried.

"Each flash drive you bring home will seem more important than the last but, in reality, the Trust will be feeding the NID corrupt data to sabotage their operations. What you need to remember, Mr. Yeager, is that the Trust is just as ruthless as the NID. Once this operation is complete, they will eliminate you. That's when Elder will step in."

"How?"

"I'll be in touch again in Wichita. According to Elder, that's where the Trust will be sending you on your final assignment."

We're coming to the end, the blowers whoosh on almost making it impossible to hear myself. "Can I trust him?"

"I can't give you any guarantees, but he has the resources to provide you with a new life, a new identity." David opens the door and steps out, leaning for one last sentence. "It's your choice, Mr. Yeager."

I reach out too late, the car bumps out into the sunlight and, when I look back, he's gone.  


#+#+#+#

  
The cities I visit blur in my mind. I fly in, meet someone in a park or a museum or a bar and carry back countless bytes of information on a device no bigger than my thumb. Time slides into weeks...months...and I walk into the room filled with monitors where Jennings announces, 'We're sending you to Wichita. It's almost over, Yeager. After this trip to the Vault, you're a free man."

"The Vault?"

"The Trust's data warehouse. It's completely insulated from the outside world, and we send in an agent when we need to retrieve or add files. You're up next. You'll deliver what you get handed in Wichita with no stop home for copying...and when you walk out of the Vault with a freshly loaded flash drive, the NID will think they've hit the mother lode."  


#+#+#+#

  


_"Jesus, John! What...how long have you been sitting here?"_

_"Not long. My new orders just came through. 0700, I'll be on a transport to McMurdo. I..uh...wanted to say...'so long.'"_

_"What the hell? Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Just...sit there. Don't move while I try to figure out just how badly we're screwed."_

_"Rodney...."_

_"Not now...wait...there...we've got twenty-five minutes clear on the surveillance loop. Let me check...fuck! The chair's going, too. Damn it, Osbourne must have finished the work on the stasis unit a lot earlier than I projected. Okay, I'm going to have to make this fast because, strange as it may seem, I've gotten used to having you around, and...and...you don't deserve to be placed on ice so those micro-brained assholes can thaw you out whenever they need you to save the world."_

_"Stasis? You want to explain why this is the first time I've heard anything about me being turned into a popsicle?"_

_"We were supposed to be gone by then. Now I'm going to have to improvise a little because that bastard's thrown off my schedule, but you're getting out of here. Tonight."_

_"We are."_

_"Listen, John, we've been working on the compression algorithm almost non-stop, and I only have one complete exit strategy set up right now. You've seen how long they take to coordinate, you've helped me put them together. It's a lot of systems to finesse without leaving a trail. Sometimes I think it'd be easier to build a particle accelerator. Here. Everything you need is on this PDA. I'm going to run you through this fast because getting out of the facility is only the first step. You're going to disappear up there, and I'll be down here making sure they won't find you when they go looking."_

_"Planning to vaporize me like Radek and Miko?"_

_"I wish it were that simple. They were the first, so no one was really suspicious when their research on the zats went very wrong. After all, a new identity is easier to pass off when there's no alert out for the old one. However, there are only so many ways I can fake a death down here and get away with it. You're going to run...and I'll wipe out your tracks."_

_"The thing is, that plan's just not working for me. How many more?"_

_"More what?"_

_"How many more of us are you planning on springing?"_

_"You're the last. Everyone else at risk has joined the cult of Landry and they're satisfied with the status quo."_

_"Carson and Laura are in Scotland on compassionate leave for his not-really-dying mother, and Lorne's 'recuperating' with what I suspect isn't broken leg in San Francisco...and they're never coming back. You've set everything up for them to disappear, just like Radek and Miko. If I take off, then you're alone down here."_

_"We don't have time for this, Sheppard. You need to be in the exit silo in the next five minutes, or you're not going to make it. I need to stay to be sure....."_

_"Not leaving you behind, McKay! Either you come with me, or I step on that transport at 0700 and you can use the damn exit strategy yourself."_

_"Hunh. You're...you're serious about this, aren't you?"_

_"You promised you'd build me a helicopter, Rodney. I'm holding you to that."_

_"Okay, okay, just let me think for a minute. I'll have to juggle a few things and...yeah, that and...uh...okay...maybe. All right, this is going to be what you'd call 'hot and sloppy,' but, with a little luck it should work. Well, come on. We're on a tight schedule."_

_"Don't you need to take anything?"_

_"Just this laptop and a few things we'll be picking up along the way. Most of it's already up there, waiting for us. The biggest problem will be making all of us disappear completely. It's going to be tougher setting it up outside this network, but not impossible for someone with my abilities."_

_"If anyone can, it's you. Clear blue skies, Rodney. We're headed for clear blue skies._

The hand over my mouth jolts me out of sleep, my heart threatens to tear itself out of my chest. An arm like a steel bar holds me flat until the whisper at my ear begins to make sense and I stop struggling. "Settle down, it's me."

I hold still and David pulls his hand away, then CNN is providing a flashing background to a very quiet conversation as I shift up to lean back against the headboard. "We need to keep our voices down. Switch this flash drive with the one in your briefcase, before you go to the Vault." The click of the plastic on the nightstand is almost imperceptible. David bends toward from his seat on the bed and holds out his hand. "Now, give me your ring."

I almost blurt out my puzzlement before I remember to lean forward and whisper, "What?"

"Your ring." David's breath tickles along my neck under my ear, and I shiver as I tug my wedding ring free. He accepts my fumbling hand-off and tucks a different one in my palm. "This one is a tracking device. It'll let us pinpoint your exact location at all times."

I miss the warmth of his body when he pulls back, and I shift forward without thinking about to get it back again. "When will I see you again?"

I can only make out his silhouette against the light from the television screen, the drapes drawn against the city night. After a moment, he leans and his hair tickles the side of my face as he murmurs, "I'll be picking you up after you leave the Vault...to deliver you to Elder."

I give in and let my hand slide across the butter-soft leather of his jacket. "I meant after that."

The brush of his hair as he shakes his head makes me shudder, my breath catch. "I...we can't...it would compromise your new identity."

I let my head drop forward to rest against his shoulder and try not to whine, but I suspect I'm not very successful. "I'm never getting out of this, am I? I'll never end up with the life I dreamed about."

"Does anyone?" David's hand passes over my hair once before he grasps my shoulder to push me back.

I fumble backwards and drop the ring to the nightstand, the clink shockingly loud during a quieter moment in the news report. The rasp of David's jaw burns as I pull him close. "You once said 'no rings.'" I don't let him twist away, my voice breaking from the effort to keep it quiet. "Let me have at least one of my dreams. Please."

"You have no idea how dangerous this is." It's almost a growl, but David hasn't left yet.

I've run out of words. "Please."

David cranks the volume higher and tosses the remote over his shoulder. The kiss is wet and sloppy and our teeth clack together and it almost kills me not to be able to tell him how good he tastes. My clothes are easy, t-shirt and boxers, so I concentrate on his buttons as much as I can with his hands touching me everywhere he can reach.

Suddenly, he flattens me across the bed and shifts enough of his clothing out of the way to line us up, hot and hard and slicker by the second. His teeth sink into the curve of my neck and he grinds down, his hand over my mouth the only thing that prevents my groan from escaping. It's rough, his zipper scraping below my hip, the rasp across crinkled hair exquisitely edged pain until it's too much, too fast, too fucking long since I've done this and I'm gasping for breath as the night whites out and my spine melts and he's jerking hard against me hot and wet and perfect.

He rolls off me to the side and I can feel his chest heaving, although he somehow manages not to make a sound. There's a rustle, the scrape of cloth and the burr of a zipper, and his weight leaves the bed.

I close my eyes and refuse to watch him open the door and leave.  


#+#+#+#

  
"500 Red Barn Road, please." After I give the cabdriver the address of the Vault, I settle back for the ride to the outskirts of the city. The night is overcast but, thankfully, the predicted rain hasn't arrived yet.

"Oh, I know where we're headed, Lawrence."

The voice is vaguely familiar, but it isn't until he turns on the overhead light and glances over his shoulder that I recognize Hoskins. I make a grab for the door, aborted when the locks engage. Hoskins flicks the light off with an unpleasant laugh. "You don't have to pretend to be Tolson. I'm quite aware that you're not brainwashed and that the Trust has been using you as a double agent against the NID."

I hate it when my voice trembles a bit, but David warned me more than once what would happen if my act was uncovered. "Are you going to kill me?"

"Not if you deliver the data to me, instead of Nicholas Elder. I know that you work for him. As a matter of fact, we both do. I'm Elder's inside source at the NID. You didn't think I hired you because I was impressed by you, did you? It's a good plan, really. Elder knew that you would eventually appear in Kansas, on the way to the Trust's Vault. He knew he could convince you to switch their flash drive with his. That was his scheme, from the very start."

I don't want to believe him. "It's not possible."

"Based on Elder's work in the past, his flash drive contains a search program. It'll penetrate the Vault's secure network, and quietly steal data files without triggering any alarms."

"Which data files?"

His shrug is visible over the top of his seat, even in the dim light. "Who knows? But if Elder has gone through all this trouble to get them, they must be extremely valuable. His plan was foolproof except for one key factor he failed to consider. Me."

I don't want to, but I have to ask. "So what do you want from me?"

"When you exit the Vault, hand the flash drive over to me." His eyes catch mine in the rearview mirror, bright and direct. "I've been loyal to the NID all along."

My headshake is a reflex born from too many betrayals. "Why should I trust you? Or the NID ?

Hoskins pulls the cab over at the side of an empty field, no buildings in sight, and I tense because it's a classic setting for dumping a body. Twisting in his seat, he faces me, his teeth shockingly white in a mocking grin. "Because we'll let you live...and Elder won't. It's as simple as that. No one sees his face and lives to tell about it. He's a phantom in cyberspace. Companies hire him, without actually knowing who he is. Granted, if they did know, they'd likely eliminate him after they got what they wanted."

He twists back around and the door locks click open before he continues. "There's only one person Elder trusts with his identity; his partner, David Marcus. He's completely loyal to Elder and willing to kill anyone to keep him safe." He tosses me a business card with a number written on the back in red ink. "Face it, Lawrence. I'm the only person you can trust now."

I shove the door open and get out without responding, anxious to put as much distance as possible between us. I stumble out into the field with his damn overconfident voice chasing after me. " Call me when you're done and I'll pick you up. Oh, and no charge for the ride." I keep my back turned to his laughter until tires crunch against gravel as he pulls away.

By the time I turn around, even the cab's taillights are out of sight, and I'm standing alone in a field in the middle of nowhere with no fucking clue what to do next. A sudden grating sound sends me spinning around looking for danger and I jump back when the ground starts moving under my feet, spinning open like an...iris? A bullet-shaped structure emerges from the hole and, before I can regain my equilibrium, a door in the side slides open revealing a single occupant. Pale and thin and looking relatively harmless, he waves at me impatiently. "Come along, Mr. Tolson. We don't have all night."

I wonder when I turned into Alice and walk inside. He hums in approval and presses a button that closes the door before turning to peer at me through coke-bottle lenses. "My name is William Dunham. Welcome to the Vault. Since this is your first time, I hope you didn't have a big dinner." I understand why when we start descending fast enough to approach freefall. My stomach lurches, but I'm lucky for a change and we reach bottom before I embarrass myself.

Smiling as if he knows exactly how close I came, Dunham points toward the opening door. "After you."

Bright light and metal walls surround me when I exit, and a blue beam plays over my body as I walk toward another door straight ahead. Dunham walks up beside me, places his hand on a palm reader, and leans forward to speak into a microphone. "Dunham, William C." The door whooshes open against positive pressure and we walk through to a corridor lined with lights. A few steps in, we're waved past guards carrying some serious firepower, and proceed down the long hallway bypassing dozens of sealed metal doors. Dunham becomes almost chatty. "There. Now that we know you're bug-free, we'll call you by your real name...Lawrence Yeager. Place is pretty impressive, isn't it?"

I shrug and grant it's different that anyplace I've been so far, trying to ignore how many tons of earth are being held up by the walls. "I guess it is."

The man actually bounces a little in his enthusiasm. "If you could see what was behind those doors...the NID would cream in their pants if they knew how much we have stored in these systems. They've tried to get through, but this place is more secure than Fort Knox. That's why the bogus data I'm going to download for you will set them back for months, maybe more."

Once we're through the door at the end, he holds out his hand impatiently. "Hand me your flash drive. I want to get this transfer done quickly so I can call it a night." He takes it from me, slots it into a networked laptop and strikes a few keys. "There, it should only take a few minutes to copy over what you brought with you, then overwrite it with the new set." That done, he walks over to a table to the side and holds up an unlabeled bottle, half-full with clear liquid. "A quick one while we wait? I distill it myself down here. One of my little hobbies to pass the time."

"Thanks." Whatever it is, it might help me deal with air that feels harder to breathe by the minute, even though I know it's all in my head. I accept the glass he hands and wait for him to pour one for himself.

"To the information age and its many casualties." He tosses back his drink while I just take a sip that burns all the way down. He pours another and carries it while he paces around the small office. "You know, I used to be considered the best mole spotter in the business, before the Trust stationed me down here three years ago. Put me in a room with a possible double agent, let me ask him a couple of questions, and I could tell you whether he was a spy or not."

I'm not really interested in the man's life story, but listening to him helps keep my mind off the mental list I'm compiling of how badly all this could end. "What happened?"

"Those fucking machines, is what happened." I can hear the resentment in his voice and can almost sympathize. "They said the new detectors were one hundred percent accurate, but I wasn't. They claimed a really good spy...or a really good liar...could fool me every time. "Bullshit," I told them, but they wouldn't listen. You see, there are certain things that only a human can detect about another human, Mr. Yeager, tells that a machine could never pick up." He stops pacing and points at me, his eyes wide and distorted behind the thick lenses. "Let me prove it to you, ask you a couple of questions. What's your favorite drink?"

It's easy enough to answer, so I shrug and do just that.. "Scotch. Single malt. On the rocks."

He responds with manic glee. "Truth. Married?"

I nod. "Yes."

"Truth again. See you're very, very easy to read." He begins to circle me and I resist the urge to turn around to face him as he walks. "Now, are you in love with your wife?"

I stiffen a little at that one, suspecting he won't miss it. "Yes."

"There, you just lied, right?" he crows, rubbing his hands together in delight.

I don't bother to deny it. "Yes."

Dunham halts in front of me, quivering in excitement. "It's more than just questions, however. For instance... I'm sensing a kind of tension in you. It's been there ever since I started uploading from your flash drive." When he leans in, I can smell the alcohol on his breath, and I turn my head to avoid it. He doesn't care, just moves in closer. "Why would that be? We both know it's from the Trust and that there's nothing on it that should make you uneasy." He grabs my wrist and presses his thumb against my pulse as he leans in, his voice low and intent. "I have one last question, Mr. Yeager. Are you a double agent?"

I don't answer, but it doesn't matter. I've obviously given myself away. His mouth opens and I can see he's gathering himself to yell, so I yank my wrist free, grab his glasses, and toss my virtually untouched drink in his face. He shouts as it hits his eyes, and I take advantage of his temporary blindness to break a conveniently located lamp across the back of his head.

Stepping over his body, I check the progress of the download and breathe a sigh of relief to see the message that it's complete. I unplug the drive and tuck it into my front pocket for safekeeping, then I'm out the door and headed for the only way out. Somehow I keep my pace unhurried, even though I'm expecting to hear alarms going off at any second.

I must have managed well enough, because the guards only look slightly puzzled when they ask me, "Where's Mr. Dunham?"

I raise my eyebrows and tip back an imaginary glass, hoping Dunham's weakness wasn't a secret to the well-armed, very scary men. "He decided to stay in his office."

I get lucky and the guard who'd asked rolls his eyes. "Right, you can go ahead." Trying not to betray my relief, I nod politely and step through when the door opens. I'm actually inside the elevator with both doors sliding shut when I hear a shout. "Wait! Stop him!"

The numbers flash on the display as I ascend, pressure heavy across my shoulder until I stagger from an abrupt thudding halt. A mechanical voice immediately begins blaring from the speaker above the buttons.

EMERGENCY CREWS ARE ON THEIR WAY. FOR YOUR SAFETY, PLEASE REMAIN INSIDE THE ELEVATOR.

EMERGENCY CREWS ARE ON THEIR WAY. FOR YOUR SAFETY, PLEASE REMAIN INSIDE THE ELEVATOR.

Waiting isn't a good plan as far as I'm concerned, so I pop open the emergency hatch, even though I'm not thrilled at the thought of climbing up an elevator shaft. Adrenaline must be playing its part, because it only takes me one try to jump up, catch hold and pull myself out. Looking up, my heart sinks at how far I still have to go, but I don't waste any more time crossing to the ladder and starting to climb. A good choice on my part when the elevator lurches downward a few seconds later, then recedes rapidly down the dark shaft.

As I climb, I try not to think what will happen when the elevator starts back up and I'm still on the ladder. I'm also not worrying about the closed iris and how I'll get it open, trusting that somehow the timing will all work out. I'm still at least thirty yards from the top when I hear the iris opening and I know that means the elevator's returning. I keep climbing, knowing I'm not going to make it, and then I hear my name. I twist to look over my shoulder and there's a dark figure suspended in mid-air about five feet away. I look again, blinking my eyes in disbelief.

It's David.

He shouts, "Jump!" and holds out his hands and I feel the pressure wave rising from below and I leap. Pain jolts through my shoulders as he grabs my wrists...and we fly up into the night.  


#+#+#+#

  


_"I warned you this would happen. I can't access everything we need. I have to go back in."_

_"You can't! I'll do it."_

_"Leaving aside your lack of the necessary skills, if they caught you, you'd end up frozen in Antarctica, and I'd never be able to get you out. It has to be me."_

_"You'll end up dead, Rodney. I can't let you do it."_

_"Not dead. I'm too valuable. They're more likely to try out their new toys."_

_"And end up with a brainwashed super-genius at their command. How is that better than just quitting now while we're ahead?"_

_"There are records kept in a top-secret isolated facility that will keep us on the run for the rest of our lives unless they're destroyed. There's more...files containing the dirty secrets that are being used to control some of the most powerful men in the government, to make certain they won't raise any objections when more and more freedoms are taken away."_

_"And you have a plan to change all that."_

_"Of course. I'll just use their own tools and tactics against them, and when we have what we need, we release it to the press. Their strength is secrecy. Once that's blown, the rest of the world will have a chance to fight what they're planning."_

_"Where do I come in? You can be damn sure I'm not letting you do this on your own."_

_"Believe me, you'll have plenty to do in all this, John. No matter what happens, you'll be the only person in the world I'll always be able to trust._

I jerk awake and sit up fast enough to be sorry when the world starts to spin. There's just enough light in the room for me to make out the shape of someone sitting in the chair across me, so I'm not too startled when I hear David's voice. "Hey, buddy. Take it easy. How're you feeling?"

An injudicious stretch triggers a groan and I flop back down, complaining. "Like I feel asleep on a couch after nearly being crushed to death by a speeding elevator and then dislocating my shoulders by dangling beneath a helicopter hundreds of feet above the Kansas countryside."

"I thought about waking you up, but you looked like you could use the sleep." Rising from the chair, David walks around the couch to open the drapes and let in the early morning sun. Now I can see the indulgent smile in a decidedly scruffy face. "Hungry?" When I nod, he heads for the door, informing me, "I'll be right back with something for you to eat...and coffee, of course. I didn't want to leave you alone before in case you woke up and didn't remember where you were."

He's gone before I can think of anything to say to that, so I end up talking to myself. "Oh. That makes sense." This time I make it to my feet before the aching starts, and I decide to explore to keep my mind off it. I don't remember much from the night before. Must have been too exhausted from the stress of the encounter and escape from the Vault, as well as the long helicopter ride to here, Elder's penthouse. I hadn't meant to pass out on the couch waiting for Elder to arrive, but my body obviously hadn't agreed.

The glass and chrome desk holding a laptop beckons and I walk over to take a quick look. As I round the corner, the framed photograph set to one side catches my eye. It's David, and I pick it up to examine it a little closer. He's grinning into the camera, squinting against what looks to be bright sun. There's a surfboard under his arm, and he's obviously headed for the waves I can see cresting behind him. He looks tan and fit and happy.

"That was one of the best vacations ever."

Startled, I nearly drop the picture, saving it at the last second to set it back where I'd found it. David slides a tray onto the desk, nodding toward the photo with a smile. "Incredible waves and perfect weather. I hope we can go back someday."

"You and Elder?" A frown crosses his face as he hands me a filled coffee mug, but it clears and he nods. I take a sip and am pleasantly surprised that it's just as I like it, hot and sweet.

_'...we'll let you live...and Elder won't. It's as simple as that. No one sees his face and lives to tell about it.'_

Banishing the echo of Hoskin's warning, I take a bigger gulp and a doughnut from the plate before I ask, "Where is Elder?"

David turns and walks over to the window to look out across the city. "He'll be here. He's ...uh...looking forward to seeing you now that your...assignment...is complete."

_'There's only one person Elder trusts with his identity; his partner, David Marcus. He's completely loyal to Elder and willing to kill anyone to keep him safe.'_

I set my mug on the desk and drop the doughnut back on the plate, my appetite suddenly gone. "I don't understand why he's not here already." I retrieve the flash drive from my pocket and wave it at David. "I risked my life for this and he can't be bothered to show up?"

Abandoning his vigil at the window, David walks toward me with his hands held wide, his stance wary. "He just had a few...loose ends...to clean up." He glances down at the desk and then meets my eyes with a smile that doesn't reach his. "Why don't you finish your coffee while we're waiting."

Reaching out, David attempts to take the flash drive from me and, when I pull it back and to the side, he twists and leans forward and his jacket swings open revealing the holstered gun. Taking advantage of his distraction, I do some reaching of my own, and the gun feels heavy in my hand as I press it into David's belly.

"Whoa, take it easy, buddy. I'm not going to hurt you."

"No, you just want to drug me. Is that how you prefer to dispose of your operatives?" My voice may be shaking, but it doesn't mean I'm not in control. "Don't try to deny it. You used me. You and Elder. You used me from the very start."

Hands up and away from his body, David holds himself still, his voice low and urgent. "Wait, just let me explain...."

"No need. Hoskins already explained everything."

I feel him jerk at that. "When did you talk to Hoskins?"

"He's the one who drove me to the Vault and filled me in on Elder's plans."

David's eyes widen in dismay and he curses as his fists clench. "Fuck. Listen...Nicholas Elder is not the person you think he is."

"He's a ruthless spy...and so are you. I know all about the two of you. I know about your special relationship."

"Please. You have to trust me...."

"I don't want to hear any more lies! God, I can't believe I thought you actually gave a damn about me. I was such a fool." Furious, I jam the gun deeper into his belly...and then his hand sweeps down and across and I don't have it anymore.

Rather than pointing his recovered weapon at me, he backs away and shouts, "No! You've got it all wrong." He takes a deep breath and puffs it out, running his hand back through his hair in frustration. His voice is calmer when he points toward the desk. "Look, open that laptop. The password is zatarc, z-a-t-a-r-c. When you see the background, it might help you understand better."

Never taking my eyes off the gun he's holding to the side, I do exactly what he suggests, and a headache blooms behind my eyes when I see David and I standing together, his arm around my shoulders and both of us grinning. I look up at David, my eyes narrowed against the pain, and whisper, "I still don't...." The flash drive clatters across the desktop as I drop into the desk chair and prop my elbows on the glass so that I can rest my aching head in my hands. "It just doesn't make any sense. You...me...."

After a few moments, there are strong fingers kneading my shoulders and warm breath brushes along the edge of my ear as David whispers, "Trust me on this. You are _not_ Lawrence Yeager. You created him out of your own imagination. Your life in the suburbs, your miserable marriage...your wife Amy was one of your own operatives playing a part that you assigned her. It was setup with the same brainwashing technique the NID uses. You built the device yourself using the prototype's specs....that you stole from Area 51."

Pieces of what David is saying resonate somewhere in a buried past, but nothing feels connected, real. I raise my head and twist in the chair to look up at him and almost growl in frustration. "That makes no sense! Why would anyone do this to themselves? God, my memory is like...Swiss cheese."

David's fingers in my hair soothe the ache, his thumbs press into my temples as he tries to explain the inexplicable. "You thought it made perfect sense when you came up with the plan! Turning yourself into Lawrence Yeager was the only way you could come up with to pass the NID's detector. It allowed you to get hired and then sent to the Trust to spy on them using the connections Elder built."

"For this." I reach out and tap the drive so that it clicks against the glass. "What the hell is on it that's so important that I would give up everything that was me to get it?"

David crouches between my legs to look up into my down-turned face with a hopeful smile. "I was hoping we could find out together."

His confession takes me by surprise. "You don't know?"

He shakes his head ruefully. "Not the specifics. I have a lot of faith in you, that it's worth everything we've gone through."

Weariness washes over me, and I give in to the inevitable. "What do we need to do?"

David stands and then my coffee mug is pressed back into my hands. "Drink this while I get the machine out of the safe. All you have to do then is sit there and let it reverse the programming. Okay?"

I take a sip as directed, and the look on my face makes him laugh.

"It's cold."  


#+#+#+#

  
I open my eyes and, for the first time in months, there's not even a ghost of a headache. My mind is free of the haze that colored my life in shades of gray and I know who I really am. I turn my head and he's lying on his side, close to me, waiting, watching, and I breathe his name out on a sigh of relief. "John."

"You're back." His whisper is choked and his hand trembles a little when he touches my face. "God, it's been too long, Rodney. Too fucking long."

Looking at his face, his eyes, I wonder how I managed to program a machine to forget him, then I remember that I never really did. "You cheated on me!"

His eyes widen in disbelief and then he rolls up to his hands and knees to glare down at me, the twitching at the side of his mouth betraying his amusement. "Oh, yeah? Well, you cheated on two wives _and_ me!"

I settle back in my pillow and look up at John, brush the long, dark strands away from his laughing eyes, and then blurt out what's been bugging the hell out of me since I first met David Marcus at a bar in Omaha. "You _really_ need a haircut."

**Author's Note:**

> Originally intended for the sga_flashfic crossing challenge, but it turned into anything but flashfic. Crossover/fusion with 2002 movie, 'Cypher.' In addition, the aliases/traits used by Rodney and John are borrowed from characters [David Hewlett](http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0382110/) and [Joe Flanigan](http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0281167/) have portrayed in movies/television shows. My thanks to mecurtin for audiencing and making some very good suggestions!


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